No Choice
by PersianFreak
Summary: Set after FDtW. Eric has always been there for Sookie when she needed him; will he come through when it matters the most?
1. Author's Note

**8/15/2010**

Greetings, dear No Choice readers,

Well, I'm back.

It's been months since I've updated this story, as I'm sure you know. I've spent the past few weeks trying to figure out why I stopped writing it in the first place, and I decided it was because I didn't quite like it. Not the concept, because I loved the concept – not to toot my own horn, mind you – but rather the way I wrote it. I like to think that I've grown as a writer since I started No Choice, so what I'm going to is rewrite the whole thing, and hopefully I can find a way around this massive writers' block.

I'd like to apologize, to each and every single one of you who read and reviewed, and everyone who grew frustrated with me for not updating and then putting the whole thing on hold indefinitely. I hope you guys can forgive me, and maybe even find a way to enjoy No Choice v2.0. You'll find there's a whole lot of similarities; there were lines or entire passages that I carried over to the rewrites because I liked them. The main plot will not change at all, I assure you, merely how the story is written.

In a couple of days I'm going to delete all the chapters I have posted so far and make this note the opening chapter of No Choice v2.0. After that, I'll start posting the rewrites and take it from there.

Thanks to all of you who stuck by me, and I hope I can find a way to make up for all the kindness you have shown me.

Here it goes.

Sincerely,

Pers

**8/30/10**

Alright! Here it is; here we go.

As I said before, some things are different, some things are not.

I hope that whatever it was that drew each of you to this story in the first place hasn't been lost, that it still speaks to you in whatever way it did all those months ago when I started it. I like to think that the things I've changed have all been for the better, but I'm not perceptive nor proud enough to seriously think so.

Reviews, comments, constructive criticism and any other thoughts you guys are willing to share with me are all appreciated.

The first chapter of the second version of _No Choice_ will be up shortly, so the wait is all but over.

Thanks, once again, to each and every single one of you who stuck by me. I hope this is an adequate first step towards making it up to all you kind souls.

All my love,

Pers


	2. Chapter 1

_**No Choice**_** by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris; Please don't sue. Set after FDtW.

Rating: T, possibly M for later chapters

A/N: First and foremost, this story is set after _From Dead to Worse_ and before _Dead and Gone_ and _Dead in the Family_. That is all.

Please let me know what you think.

* * *

"She's dying." Pam informs me from the doorway and I don't even bother to look up.

"Who is?" I shuffle some papers and find the one I'm looking for before returning to my laptop.

"Sookie," she responds through gritted teeth.

"Oh, is she?" I asked conversationally.

"Dammit, Eric!" She yells at me, "Stop acting like you don't know what the hell is going on and go see her!" I let my fangs click out – it's very easy – and move to stand in front of her at a speed only one of our kind can manage.

"Do I need to remind you to whom you are speaking, Pamela?" I speak calmly, though judging by her expression I know my eyes are conveying my complete and utter lack of tolerance with her attitude.

"You want to punish me? Fine," my child says, more subdued than before but still struggling with her earlier frustration with me. Her eyes flick between mine thanks to our proximity and she blinks, a hint of fear in her eyes. "But after you go see her." She's bluffing and the mere fact that she's willing to piss me off for the sake of Sookie would make me worry if I were the kind to worry. I drag out the silence as long as I can just for the pleasure of watching her squirm before I bark out a single word of surrender and storm out of the bar. My car purrs to life and I floor it all the way to the hospital to screech into a parking spot.

The place is just as I remember it, just as it was three months ago when I last came here. Everything reeks of alcohol and human blood, and humans mill about, carting food and blood and drugs, changing sheets and fetching ice chips and fretting over their loved ones. I head to the room at the end of an impossibly long hallway on the fifth floor, past the massive sign in front of the bank of elevators dubbing the entire floor the Oncology Wing. There is a curtain hanging in front of the open door and I would pause to consider the consequences if I had anything else left to lose, but as it is I shove the curtain aside and step inside.

The room has been outfitted with Sookie's personal bedding to make it more homey, I suppose, and one wall is covered with newspaper cut-outs that I recall Pam meticulously cutting out every evening, occasionally asking for my opinion regarding whether or not Sookie would appreciate a particular comic strip or article. The shifter is sitting in a generically itchy and uncomfortable armchair, flipping through a magazine and looking as worn out as I feel after a thousand years of existence. His head snaps up when I barge in and he frowns for a split second before his forehead smoothes and he regards me. Moving carefully, he brushes a hand over Sookie's forearm and she stirs as much as she seems capable of, which is not much. She's thin, thinner than she has ever been and paler than she would ever let herself become had she been capable of standing up to go suntanning. All waxy skin and sharp angles and dull matted hair splayed on the pillow, Sookie's eyes open slowly and flit sluggishly around the room to settle on mine without expression.

"Cher, I'll be right outside," her friend promises and kisses her forehead before slipping out past me.

"Eric," she rasps, a vulnerable edge in her voice.

"Hello, dear one," I murmur quietly and her eyes fill with tears. "Do you want me to leave?" Say no, say no, please say no. She shakes her head and if I needed to breathe, I would sigh in relief.

"Why are you here?" Clearing her throat, she smiles weakly though the tears are spilling over and I move without thinking – too fast – and she recoils. Lesson learned, I settle on the edge of her bed and brush the tears away.

"I don't know," I admit and she understands how much it takes out of me to admit that to her, to myself. "Pam yelled at me."

Sookie gasps, in outrage or admiration I can't tell, "She did?" Chuckling, I nod. "Why?"

"She wanted me to come see you."

"Oh," she considers that and then her face lights up ever so slightly. "She comes here a lot."

"She cares about you a lot."

"She shows it. In her own way." Sookie shakes her head, smiling fondly. I nod, knowing what she means by Pam's own personal brand of showing affection, which sometimes includes yelling at someone she knows could make her life a living hell. Falling silent, I take one of her hands in mine, taking note of the healing dot left behind by the needle now buried in the back of her other hand. When she speaks again, her voice is strong, her tone abrupt, and I look up in shock.

"I'm dying."

"I know." Even if I couldn't see her, even if there wasn't a monitor by her bed showing me how frail her heartbeat is, my blood in her is calling to me, tugging on my consciousness and letting me know how close she is to being lost to me for ever.

"It's okay," her thumb brushes over my skin. "Don't feel bad. You told me this would happen. We both knew it would happen eventually, and here it is." She actually smiles, actually fucking smiles and it does foreign things to my heart.

"It is not too late," I tell her quietly, insistent, and I am aware of my accent slipping through.

"Eric," she chastises, disapproval in her eyes.

"If I changed you now, there wouldn't be any damage to your mind. I would feed you my blood slowly over several hours and your body would heal and you would look as you did-"

"Listen to me, I don't _want_ to be immortal."

"You would rather _die_?" I snap harshly and for the second time since I walked in she recoils, gazing at me with wide tear-filled eyes. I reach for her and her body, already wracked with disease, begins shaking with sobs. "No, nononono, don't cry. I'm sorry, darling. I'm so sorry." Shaking in my arms like a terrified, injured prey, I find I'm overwhelmed with the need to comfort her like I did my daughter, so many hundred years ago when she fell and scraped her knee, a mere toddler. And I'm apologizing, like a human man who makes mistakes and apologizes for them. Now in my arms, I can feel every bone and muscle and tendon as if her skin is the only thing holding her together as she shakes with grief in my arms and I murmur my apology into her hair.

"I can't lose you," I sigh and she exhales forcefully to pull a little out of my arms and smile at me.

"Yes you can. In a few years, you'll have gotten over me and then you'll be grateful that I didn't let you turn me." Her tears are slowing, her body calming down and I frown at her because that's not true. "Yes, it is," she tells me like I'm simply being daft, not understanding. I carefully let her settle back down into her bed and she adds, "You can't turn every woman you sleep with."

"I don't love every woman I sleep with." The words tumble out of their own accord but there's no urge to snatch them back, to deny them and pretend I made a mistake.

"What?" She asks breathlessly and I look away because she's going to shoot me down, she's going to tell me I'm full of shit or that she could never love me back because I'm a goddamn bloodsucker. "You'd never said it before."

"You knew?" I ask even though, honestly, how could she not? What other thousand-year-old vampire would put up with her like I did, what other explanation could there have been? She's smarter than I gave her credit for.

"I can't read your mind, Eric, but I guess I… I hoped." She sighs, sounding torn and I chuckle, shaking my head, which somehow calms her down and she smiles softly at me, though it fades quickly.

"I love you back," my Sookie murmurs quietly and there are no words to describe what her words do to me, would be doing to me if she didn't look so... dejected.

"Then stay with me." I stroke her chin with my thumb and tilt her head towards me, "Stay with me. If you love me, don't leave me. I will beg if that's what it'll take for me to convince you, Sookie."

"You want me alive for ever?" She challenges, eyes flashing, "You want me around for eternity?"

"Yes." Challenge accepted.

"Why?"

I pause, considering her question. Because she has no qualms against telling me to fuck off, because I'm a thousand years old and I have the ability to rip her into shreds and still she took me in and held my fucking hand all night, because she is the love of my existence.

I want to make a joke, to laugh off her question, to not give her any more power over me. But I can't. If I dismiss her now, she will never agree to let me turn her. I need to find the words that will convince her of how much I want her.

"Because I can't imagine another thousand years without you."

"What if you changed your mind?" She asks miserably and her blonde lashes glisten with her tears as I suppress the frustration at her for thinking any of the words I said I meant any less than one hundred percent.

"I won't, Dear One. Will you?" If you tell me I can turn you, will you change your mind? If I do turn you, will you change your mind about wanting me back for all eternity? She ignores my questions, instead choosing to ask one of her own.

"How do you know?" I blink at her in confusion. "How do you know you'll love me for ever?"

"I just do," I grin and her face lights up in response.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

A nod, a single inclination of her head and then, "Will you turn me?"

"Are you sure?"

"Having second thoughts?"

"No. I just want you to be sure."

"I'm sure." I gaze at her for a long moment, feeling my face break into a wide smile. "But, can I have some time? A few hours? I want... everyone to know. I want to say good-bye." My eyes flit to the monitor and she understands my gaze, understands that neither one of us know how much time she has left and we're not willing to take chances. "Will your blood hold me up for a few hours? If you give me some now, will it buy me some time?" I nod and instantly bite into my wrist and offer it to her. She gasps in shock but then presses my wrist to her mouth, drawing so deeply that I groan and hang my head to rest it on her shoulder. I let her drink for so long that I begin feeling lightheaded, begin feeling the pain in the pit of my stomach that warns me and I gently withdraw my hand.

"Sookie, I need..."

"I know," she nods, understanding that I need blood, that I can't hold out like this. "There's blood vending machines downstairs." I will probably glamour some attendant into giving me a couple of bags of blood, but her concern is touching and I incline my head before bending down to kiss her mouth. For the first time in three months, I press my lips against hers and trail kisses down her neck and to her shoulder. "I love you," Sookie sighs.

"I love you back," I whisper softly into her ear before pulling back. "I'll send Sam in." I find the shifter slumped on a couch in the small waiting area by the nurses' station and send him to Sookie before going in search of blood. Ten minutes later, I'm glamouring a pretty brunette into giving me two bags of A-positive and I sneak into a supply closet before draining both bags within seconds. I kill some time, deeming that my presence would not be appreciated as Sookie tells her loved ones about deciding to be made immortal; they'd think, in their ignorant blindness, that I glamoured her, that she doesn't know what she's getting herself into, that she's becoming desperate. They would all be wrong in that regard; she's not the desperate one, I am.

With this new transfusion of my blood in her, I can feel with even more accuracy than before, how weak she has grown. Her entire body, down to her very cells, is worn out with both the treatment and the disease, and now I can feel it with every cell of mine. There is a swell in the bond to mark what I'm guessing is the arrival of Sookie's friends and her happiness at seeing them. Claudine, Amelia, Tara and Bill, I would guess. Perhaps Jason too, roused as he may be by the possibility of his sister becoming one of us to visit her. Within minutes, her happiness fades into frustration and then resignation, at which point I return to her room to learn the cause of her latest mood change. I'm right, of course, because Claudine, Amelia, Jason and Bill are there, though Tara is absent. Perhaps I had misjudged their friendship. Sookie smiles when I enter and reaches out for me to kiss her hair and take her hand.

"Eric," Bill nods at me as he should, considering his position in the hierarchy of things and I return the greeting. The witch shoots me a small, sad smile while Jason opts for a hostile glare, and Sam and I acknowledge each other with a nod. Claudine steps back, further into the shadows and I suppress the urge to slam her against the wall and bury my fangs in her neck, choosing instead to focus on the burning scent of anti-septic hanging in the hospital air.

"You'll take care of her, right?" Amelia asks and I observe her tear-filled eyes. Had it been Jason or Sam asking the question, I would have bristled but Amelia is genuinely concerned, not questioning my competence. And, after the takeover incident, I find I respect her and admire her competence as a witch.

"Yes." She nods, smiling at me.

"Yeah, you better," Jason mutters and I glare at him.

"Jason," his sister chastises.

"All I'm saying, is that if he's so keen on killing you, he better be willing to take care of you afterwards."

"Jason!" This time it's Amelia who's gaping at him and I suppress the urge to teach this ignorant little man a lesson.

"What, he disappears for months and then rides back in on his high horse and convinces you to give up everything?"

"There's nothing left for me to give up," Sookie seethes, frail fists clenched. "I'm _dying_, remember?"

"Yeah I remember, I remember 'cause I've been here watching you die while he's been off being a fucking bloodsucker!" She gasps and her brother freezes, clearly regretting his words when he notices Bill's extended fangs in the second before Sookie finds words once more. I would roll my eyes at Bill but I'm too busy watching Sookie put her brother in his place.

"I think you should leave," she tells him quietly.

"Sis, I didn't-"

"I'll see you later, Jason, but right now, I don't want you anywhere near me. Please leave." Jason hesitates, awaiting a change of heart that doesn't appear before retrieving his jacket and heading out without a goodbye.

"I'm sorry," Sookie murmurs, eyes not meeting mine.

"For what, Lover?" I raise a brow and smile at her when she looks up. Her brother being an idiot is not her fault, and she smiles when she realizes that I pin no blame on her.

"You're sure about this?" Bill asks and I stiffen, something neither he nor Sookie miss.

"I'm sure, Bill," she assures him.

"You always loved the sunlight," he observes and I would very much like to punch him out. With a stake. In the chest.

"I won't see the sunlight if I'm six feet under," she jokes feebly.

"You still won't see it if you're a vampire, sweetheart."

"Bill, that's _enough_." I can't tell if I'm lashing out because he's trying to convince her otherwise or because he just called my lover his sweetheart. He opens his mouth to speak but Sookie interrupts him.

"I know the cost, Bill. I know what I have to sacrifice, and it's far less than what I would lose if I died. As a vampire, I'd still have my friends and everybody I love. Or I hope I would," she chuckles uncertainly and is instantly rewarded with reassurance from her friends.

"Niall won't be happy," Claudine sighs, speaking for the first time in my presence.

"It's not his choice," Sookie frowns but almost immediately switches to a look of concern. "Would I still be able to see you?" Her cousin considers it and nods, slowly.

"I would have to learn how to mask my scent, but yes."

"Good," my lover smiles, relief flooding her face.

"Are you doing this for Eric or for yourself?" Bill is apparently intent on provoking me to grant him his final death tonight.

"I'm doing it because I'm not ready to die," she responds before I can and her hand squeezes mine. "And because it's awfully selfish of me to leave you guys when I don't have to," she adds with a grin and it's my turn to squeeze her hand. Suddenly, she hesitates and shoots me an odd look I can't decipher, confusion and a bit of fear trickling into the bond. I raise a brow but she shakes her head and I let it slide, perhaps until we are alone.

"And we'd love to have you, Cher," Sam smiles – perhaps at the way his words sound as if he's talking about a dinner invitation and not Sookie's life – and continues, "but none of us would feel right unless you wanted this for _yourself_ and not us."

"I want this, Sammy," she assures him and he nods. Amelia sniffles, practically leaping forward to hug Sookie, and there's no doubt in my mind the only reason Sookie can physically handle it is due to my blood freshly coursing through her veins.

"Aww, Mel, it'll be okay! Don't cry," she soothes.

"Don't be comforting me! I should be comforting _you_, not the other way around."

Smiling, Sookie says, "I don't need comforting. I'm okay now, and I'll be even better soon."

"How soon?" Bill asks and she turns to me.

"Tonight," I say quietly, meeting her eyes to express that I don't know how much time she has left and I'm not willing to play Russian roulette with her life. She nods, understanding.

"Then we should probably go?" Sam asks and I nod, slowly. "We'll see you soon, Cher." Amelia moves to allow Sam a hug and a chaste kiss on the cheek with Sookie before swooping in for her own goodbye.

"See you in three days," my lover's friend smiles, all reassurance and Sookie laughs despite the tears that have filled her eyes.

"Goodnight, sweetheart." Compton is really fucking pushing it now and I growl, quietly enough that only he and Sookie hear it as he leans in to kiss her hair. There's a pause as Claudine shoots me an apprehensive look and I step away from the bed to lean against the wall, giving her the space she needs to feel comfortable. Wishing Sookie all the best and promising to see her as soon as she possibly can, Claudine pops out of the room, taking the lead as the others also begin to head out slowly. When the room door clicks shut, that's the moment Sookie finally relaxes and begins sobbing, wrapping her arms around me to release her pent-up emotions into my shirt.

"I'm sorry," she weeps, wiping at the tears. "I'll see them soon but I just…"

"I know," I say even though I'm not sure I do. She _will_ see them soon, and she will be healthy enough to not be bedridden the next time she does. Her grief is not something I claim to understand.

"Will you say it again? I need to hear it again." I don't have to ask what she is talking about; instead, I repeat that I love her. "Thank you. I must seem so silly to you, but I just need to make sure… And I like hearing you say it. I never thought you would."

"I love you," I say again just to watch the way her eyes light up.

"You know I do too."

"I do." I didn't, but now I do. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah, I think so. I guess we're going to your house?" She is nervously fiddling with her fingers and the quilt I recognize as being her Gran's. I remember her wrapping it around me as we spoke, settled in front of her fireplace. The light of the fire, draining the colour from her eyes while bathing the rest of her in warmth; I remember thinking that she was beautiful, that I wanted her and that she must want me too, if she kept averting her gaze and blushing. The urge to protect that surfaced when she saved me has yet to go away, I observe as I arrange for her discharge, which takes longer than usual considering it's nearly ten now. I make an extra trip to my car to stuff Sookie's pillow, quilt and bag in my trunk, having taken down all the cut-outs and carefully tucked them in one of the bag's side-pockets. Hospital policy dictates that Sookie be wheeled out in a wheelchair but I roll my eyes and gather her in my arms once she has changed into a Fangtasia t-shirt and sweats, carrying her to place her gingerly in the passenger seat.

"You bought a new car," she observes and I grin. "What was wrong with the old one?"

"This one goes faster, and handles better," I shrug, patting the latest-model Corvette. And, I think to myself, the last one was bugged by the King.

"And has red seats," Sookie smiles, shaking her head when I join her in the car.

"A new feature. Do you like it?"

"It's very you."

"So you love it?" She smacks me and I'm pleased to see she's looking better, less pale and stronger thanks to the large dose of my blood she took.

"So what, you just buy a new model of the same car every few years?" my lover asks as we pull out of the parking lot and I head to my house.

"Of course not," I frown. "Pam bought me my first Corvette, to celebrate the opening of the bar. The subsequent ones I bought because I wanted newer models, but I'm beginning to think about a less modest car for my use."

"Less modest?" She scoffs, "Only you would consider a cherry-red Corvette modest, Eric."

"I need a car befitting my new position," I argue and she takes the bait.

"Your new position?"

I nod, "I've been promoted to the Sheriff of the new Area 1 of Louisiana." Felipe re-divided Louisiana, into bigger Areas and with me as the Sheriff of the biggest one. "I'm now his second-in-command in Louisiana."

"The new Area 1?" Sookie asks, appearing a bit shaken.

"All of northern Louisiana, as far down as Alexandria."

"And now you're his second-in-command," she murmurs, almost to herself.

"In this state, yes."

"What does that mean?" I coax the car into a smooth stop at a red light and turn to her.

"Well, Victor is still his right-hand man, his main second-in-command, if you will. But Felipe has assigned a second-in-command to each of his states in case he's rendered incapable, for whatever reason. Victor has Nevada, Sandy Sechrest has Arkansas and I have been given Louisiana."

"He must trust you quite a bit," she raises a brow.

"He trusts my competence, and fears my power. He's trying to mollify me, after threatening my bonded and my business and murdering my fellow sheriffs. Promoting me is his way of trying to ensure my fealty to him."

"But you had no plans of overthrowing him." It's not a question but I can still feel her questioning gaze on me as I make a left turn.

"I didn't. I still don't. Felipe is clever, cunning. He knows how to keep his people satisfied, and he knows what he needs to do to create peace after a takeover. He's a little too attached to you for my liking, but you're my bonded and will continue to be so when you're a vampire. More importantly, you will be my child, in my thrall, and that'll make you even more secure. So I have nothing to worry about and very little to be unhappy with. So no, I have no plans of overthrowing Felipe; it's not something I have any interest in."

"You sound like you respect him."

"I do. He knows what he's doing; I admire him for it." Sookie nods and falls silent, immersing herself in her own thoughts. "Are you going to tell me what happened in the hospital room? While your friends were visiting?" She had been afraid, shaken, and I have been waiting for the moment to casually bring it up.

"Oh, that."

"Yes, that."

"Um, I heard your thoughts."

"Oh?"

"It has happened before," she adds hurriedly.

"I beg your pardon?" She has heard vampires before or just me?

"Never this clearly. Usually it's just a flash, like a brief visual or something."

"Just with me or vampires in general?"

She twists a piece of thread from her shirt around her index finger and sighs, "I heard you the night you staked Longshadow. It was just a flash and it scared me because it was all slithery and vampirey. I heard Stan once, and a couple of times in Rhodes with different vampires, but it was never as… coherent, as it was with you tonight. It was like you were speaking in my mind, not all staticy and blurry like it usually is."

"And you hid it from me to… protect yourself?" An apologetic nod.

"Are you angry?"

"You heard me tonight because of the bond, not because you're a telepath."

"What?"

I shrug, "It happens. If the bond becomes very strong, sometimes it allows the bonded to communicate telepathically. It's rare, but not unheard of."

"Oh."

"But I'm glad you told me about being able to read vampires, Love."

"You are?"

"Your ability… it could change, mutate once I turn you."

"I guessed as much," she admits.

"Now we can predict how it will change better. Every time you have a dose of vampire blood, you can hear vampires. It's predictable, that's good." Smiling shyly, Sookie returns to admiring the scenery as it passes. "What did you hear from me anyways?"

"I love you."

"What?"

"That's what I heard, you saying you loved me." Ah. Figures. "Are we almost there? Where do you live, anyways? We're not in the city anymore, are we?"

"Almost. I live just outside of the city, closer to Blanchard, actually." I make the sharp turn into the side road obscured by the thick foliage of trees and slow down to avoid damaging my car with its low suspension on the country road. Soon, the trees on either side clear away to reveal my silver and iron reinforced gate. Punching the code into the keypad, I smile at the look of awe on Sookie's face as the gate slides open and drive up the cobblestone driveway, past the sharp turn that was created to protect my house from prying eyes at the gate. The lawn is manicured and leads up to my Victorian-style house.

"Oh my god, Eric! This place is beautiful!"

"Home sweet home." I grin, parking the car in the garage at the back to grab her bag before leading her up to the wraparound porch and through the back door.


	3. Chapter 2

_**No Choice**_** by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris; Please don't sue. Set after FDtW.

Rating: T, possibly M for later chapters

A/N: You guys are wonderful; it was such a relief to see the response to the re-boot. Here is the second chapter, flashback to how it all started.

Please don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts.

* * *

**16 Weeks Earlier**

My shirt is off and I'm pinned against the wall when Eric first speaks.

Hands scrabbling under the back of his shirt, I arch my neck back to allow his mouth better access while his own hands unbutton and unzip my jeans and I sigh, in anticipation or relief I can't tell.

"If I asked you to do me a favour, would you?" he whispers into my jaw and I frown because he isn't the type of man to ask for favours; demand them, yes, but ask? Mentally, I run through a list of possible sexual favours he could be asking, and I briefly contemplate how willing I am.

"What kind of favour?"

"A big one."_ Well, that ups the chances of it being sexual_, I think to myself.

"You aren't about to ask me to marry you, are you?" I half-joke though if he does, I'm not sure what I'll do.

"No." I visibly relax, something that is not lost on him if his tightened jaw is any indication.

"Then what?"

"I want you to let me turn you." The words tumble out into the prolonged silence and I stare at him, awaiting more; an explanation, a speech about how I'm too valuable to let waste, something.

"I'm waiting for the punch line," I say at last.

"I'm not joking."

"Well, you better be 'cause that's just crazy, Eric." I push against his chest and cross my arms over mine, meeting the displeasure in his gorgeous blue eyes.

"It's logical," he retorts.

"It's never going to happen. I don't want immortality and I sure have no reason to require it. I like my life; I like l_iving_."

"You will die." He speaks calmly, matter-of-fact as if I should know this by now and he shouldn't have to explain himself. "If by no other means, you will age and die, while I stay the same."

"You don't have to stay and watch," I snap and watch his eyes tighten in anger.

"You would prefer it if I left?" he asks coolly.

"I wouldn't want to waste your valuable time."

"I wouldn't be here if I thought you were a waste of time."

"Well, I'm glad the sex is so enjoyable to you."

"That's not why-"

"I know it's the only reason why you're here, Eric. The only reason why you show up and disappear before either one of us has a chance to get attached."

"I don't see you vying for more, Sookie," he says quietly and I watch something in his jaw twitch. "Sex is the only thing you want, too."

"Not tonight." I grit my teeth and add, "I don't want anything from you tonight, Eric. Get out."

"Are you rescinding my invitation?"

"Are you going to make me?"

He considers that for a beat but shakes his head, "No. Good night, Dear One." Kissing my forehead, he grabs his jacket from where it was tossed on the floor and strides out, swinging the door shut behind him. I pick up my abandoned shirt and stomp to my shower, alone and different from what I had imagined it to be when Eric first walked in. I stay up for hours in bed, wondering why on earth Eric would want to keep me around for eternity.

* * *

Eric came to me six weeks after the takeover, uncharacteristically dressed in a crisp white dress shirt and black dress pants, his hair tied back with a plain leather cord. He patiently awaited an invitation he technically didn't need and then bent down to kiss my cheek before stepping in. Casually sniffing at the air, he had inquired as to the absence of my housemates and nodded when I explained about the weeklong retreat hosted by the Shreveport witches.

"The king and his… entourage left an hour ago," he explained once I'd offered him a seat and a True Blood, the latter of which he declined.

"I guessed you were busy with the takeover," I nodded, though I had been starting to grow rather frustrated with the utter lack of communication between us; how long would a single text message take him, for example?

"I didn't contact you because I didn't want to draw their attention to you any more than necessary, not because I was too busy," he explained as if he could read my mind. Or the blood bond, which was evidently just as effective in informing Eric of how I felt. Moving closer to me on the couch,

"They were monitoring you?" I asked neutrally and he nodded.

"They still are, I'm sure."

"So you coming here an hour after they leave is probably not the smartest move?"

"Probably not." _Then why are you here_, I wanted to ask but he spoke again. "Sookie, I remember everything."

"So you said," I inclined my head, not giving him any room because I didn't want to have that talk. There was nothing to say because that was a different person, a different Eric I was falling for and I hadn't exactly been waiting for him to come running back and sweep me off my feet; I didn't need that and I didn't expect it. So there was nothing to talk about.

"I think I loved you," he mused, the look on his face something akin to amusement and I relaxed because I had expected him to be arrogant and possessive, but instead he appeared entertained by the whole situation.

"I think I loved you too. Or was falling in love with you," I added with a chuckle.

"I don't know if I still do. I was a different man…"

"I know."

"I do know that I want to have sex with you," he continued, mischief glimmering in his eyes and I laughed. "Sex with you was…"

"Phenomenal? Amazing? The best you have ever had?" I laid it on thick but he laughed warmly and a small part of me wondered if this Eric was all that different from the Eric I almost loved. Moving to kneel between my knees, he nuzzled my nose and with his touch, my body was flooded with warmth that pooled somewhere much lower than my chest.

"Is that how it was for you, lover?" His hands dropped to grip my hips and pull me closer to the edge of the couch cushion so I let my fingers slowly unbutton his shirt, tugging it out of his pants.

"Maybe," I smiled and pulled back from his mouth, teasing him.

"Maybe, huh?" He cocked a brow and unbuttoned my jeans only to sneak his hands under my shirt and rest a hand on my stomach while the other travelled to the clasp of my bra.

"Mmhmm," I nodded, still grinning. Making a contemplative sound, Eric pulled back to slide my sleeveless shirt over my head and toss it aside, my bra joining it almost instantly.

"I've missed this," he murmured, bending down to mouth at my breasts and take my nipples between his teeth.

Throwing my head back at the rush of pleasure, I still managed to whisper, "How could you have missed it if you didn't remember until six weeks ago?"

"I've missed it in the past six weeks," he replied with a short laugh before he mouthed his way up my sternum. I tugged his head away by the ears to cup his cheeks in my hand and meet his gorgeous, wanting eyes.

"Kiss me," I ordered and he obeyed almost instantly, meshing his lips with mine. I gasped before reciprocating with as much passion as he was showing me, urgency appearing in our movements like a switch being flipped. Suddenly there was too much clothing getting in the way of skin-on-skin contact and I pushed the shirt off his shoulders to get started on his pants.

"Bedroom?" he asked.

"Floor," I corrected and he practically growled in my mouth in the moment before I felt a cool breeze and found myself naked, Eric's clothes and mine in a pile nearby. "Nice," I commented and pushed him back onto the floor to straddle his waist, feeling his hardness against my butt. I could feel him getting ready to roll on top of me but I leaned down to lick the shell of his ear and whisper, "Uh uh. It's not your turn yet, Mr Northman. Now lay back and let me do all the work."

A long while and many turns later, Eric tugged the covers up around both of us and I rested my head on his chest to play with his sparse chest hair.

"The best I have ever had," he spoke with conviction, kissing my hair and I blushed, turning my head into his skin.

"You too, honey."

"Oh, so I'm 'honey' again, am I?"

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all, Lover."

* * *

That was over a month ago, and since then Eric has shown up every couple of days, keeping in touch with me through text or phone calls on the days we don't see each other. We'd have sex, talk in bed until dawn is near at which point he would take flight, leaving me to fall asleep by myself in the early morning hours. That was it: easy, fun, and entirely lacking in heavy emotional talks that could complicate matters.

Until last week, that is, when he had to go and ruin our fun, uncomplicated sex. I have to struggle with my anger at this, at the fact that he took away the simple happiness I found in his company because, blood-bound or not, I miss Eric. I miss the curve of his lips when he smiles and the almost-warmth of his body after we make love, and this just angers me even further because before he got his memory back, I had been doing just fine without his fucking gorgeous lips and warm body.

I have spent the past week falling back into my routine, pre-Eric and post-takeover, by going to work when I have to, cleaning when I see the need, cooking when it's my turn. Amelia shoots me sidelong glances every now and then, her unbearably loud thoughts expressing to me the concern she's unwilling to verbalize in the light of Eric's absence. The Monday following Eric's sudden departure, I wake up early for the lunch shift and dress in a drowsy haze, driving to Merlotte's a little too fast too keep from being late. In the parking lot, it isn't until I'm staring up at the clear morning sky that I understand something is not quite right.

8888

"Brain cancer?" My voice shakes and I have to clear my throat to pull myself together.

Dr Henley nods, "Yes. More specifically, a meningioma in your temporal lobe."

"But you can treat it, right?" Jason asks and I'm momentarily surprised by the relevancy of his question; I love my brother but he ain't the brightest. Right now he looks baffled, like he can't understand why we're even wasting time with this discussion instead of treating me on the spot, like I'm a ditch in the road that needs to be filled by the road crew; that straightforward, that easy to fix.

"We can try," the doctor nods cautiously, "but the original tumour has metastasized; there are various smaller tumours in your brain, not all of which we can surgically remove. What we can do is remove the ones we can access and leave the rest to chemotherapy."

"So you're going to give it your best shot, but my chances aren't that great. Is that right?" I ask calmly.

"Miss Stackhouse, there is still a chance that you can beat this," Henley argues, sympathetic but detached, and I want to smack him across the face for thinking I'm an idiot.

"How long do I have?" I have watched enough medical dramas to know what to ask.

"Sookie," my brother interrupts but I ignore him.

"How long, Dr Henley?"

"Three to six months, depending on how many tumours we get and how the drugs affect you." I nod to myself, absorbing the news.

"Wait a minute, there must be something else you can do, don't tell me that's the best you've got!" Jason argues, jumping to his feet.

"Jason, don't-"

"No, Sookie. These guys are doctors, they know better-"

"There's surgery, and chemotherapy. Although," I direct at the doctor, "I'm not sure if I can afford it all. I guess… I don't know. I'll figure it out."

"I suggest starting as soon as possible."

"Then start, I'll figure it out." Henley tells me some more about what I should expect in the next few days and leaves, telling me he'll be back once they've set a time for the surgery as he does. Returning to my brother, I find him looking like a lost puppy. "Come here," I smile, patting the space next to me and he obliges, perching on the edge of the bed. "Jason, it'll be okay."

"How do you know? I mean, first it was mama and daddy, then Gran, and now you?"

"I just do, okay? Trust me on this one." I squeeze his hands in mine and he nods, albeit reluctantly. "You should go home, get some sleep."

"You sure you don't want me to stay with you tonight?"

"I'm sure. I'll be fine here, you go home and tell Amelia and Sam that I'm fine."

Jason frowns, "You don't want me to tell them? They're your friends, don't you want them to know?"

"No, it's okay, I'll tell them the next time they come visit. They don't need to worry."

"What about Eric, aren't you two together or something?"

I smile reassuringly, "I'll call him later." Jason frets some more before he leaves, but at last I'm left alone in the half-illuminated room, wondering what to do next. It turns out not to matter, however, when my phone begins ringing, Eric's name flashing on the screen.

"Where are you?" he asks the moment I answer and the happiness I had felt drains away as quickly as it appeared.

"Why do you ask?" I ask, all nonchalance.

"Because I can feel you through the bond," he snaps, irritated.

"Eric, I don't need your attitude," I warn.

"Alright, alright. Will you tell me where you are?" When I don't respond, he lowers his voice to his cajoling tone and calls me his Lover and I soften because I won't be his lover if I'm dead.

"I'm at the hospital," I speak quietly and there's no sound on the other end of the line for a long moment.

"Shreveport General?"

"Yes." Sighing at the immediate click that marks his hanging up on me, I flip my phone shut and wait twenty minutes for Eric to stride into my room.

"This is the oncology wing," he frowns at me as if he expects me to smack my forehead and arrange to have myself moved to the correct wing. Nodding, I confirm his observation and he asks, "What happened?"

"I fainted and… I have brain cancer. It's… I'm dying, Eric." I chuckle bitterly, "Faster than before, that is."

"You won't die," he informs me calmly and my eyes brim with tears because I so wish he was right.

"Won't I?"

"No, because you'll let me turn you."

"Fuck, Eric, no."

"It's the only option," is his argument and I'm angry enough that I ignore the tears that are now trailing down my cheeks.

"No, it's not. And it's not what I want because just like I told you last week, I don't want immortality."

"You'd rather die?" he asks and for the first time, allows emotion to cross his features: confusion, perhaps even genuine pain. When he speaks again, his voice could almost be described as strained, "Why, Sookie?"

"I don't know," my voice breaks on the last word. "I just know that I can't become one of you. I just can't. And I know that it's not what we do and I know that you're probably super busy right now, but can you pretend that I'm more than just some measly human woman you're fucking and just hold me?" Sobs wrack my body by the end of my little rant and I half-expect him to spin on his heel and walk out but instead he slips his shoes off and slides into my bed to fit my body into his. I curl into his chest and grip his waist in a way that would have caused him pain had he been human. Shushing me, Eric strokes my hair and kisses my head, murmuring to me in his ancient language.

"I'm sorry," I whisper a while later because his embrace is too comforting for me to remove myself from and because I'm suddenly embarrassed of my own outburst.

"Losing you is not something I am looking forward to, Lover," he says, hand stroking up my back.

"You and I both," I chuckle and kiss his chest because it's mere inches away from my lips. "I'm sorry I freaked out, I know you probably have to get back to work."

"Shut up," he orders calmly and I do, smiling into his cold skin as I drift off to sleep.

I awaken a while later at the sound of a nurse telling Eric that he has to leave or sleep in the visitors' cot, oblivious to his nature.

"Can he stay? Please? I need him here," I ask drowsily and the woman sighs, leaving me the container of orange juice from the dinner tray I had barely touched from earlier.

"Would you like some?" Eric asks quietly, referring to the juice and I nod, regretting it when he removes his arms from around me to fetch me the plastic cup. Removing the aluminum covering he hands the cup to me and watches as I take a long sip before handing it back for him to put away. We return to our earlier positions, though this time I rest my head farther back to see him.

"How long did I sleep?"

Checking his phone, Eric responds, "About two hours. It's almost nine now."

"You sure you don't need to-"

"I'm fine here, Sookie."

"Kiss me?" I ask, mimicking our first time and he smiles to press his lips to mine. "Sorry, I haven't brushed my teeth," I pull back a moment later.

"I don't care." Bending forward, he kisses me again and deepens it until we're both – well, _I _am breathless and have to break away. I tuck my head under his head again, and fall asleep again in his arms, this time to awaken alone and warm in a pool of sunlight.

8888

My life develops its own quirky routine after that.

I have several surgeries to remove the various brain tumours from my body, and take the information all in stride save for when they tell me they have to shave my hair and I weep hard enough to freak Eric out – as much as a thousand-year-old can be freaked out – and cause him to fly to the hospital with the sun barely gone, leaving him a little red from sunburn in the worst sense of the word. It takes me a while to recover from the surgeries and as soon as I'm deemed strong enough, I'm hooked up to bags filled with liquid that the vampires regard with distaste, as it taints the oh-so-delicious scent of my blood with something bitter and chemical. Eric growls unhappily with the administration of each new bag but concedes that it's the best they can do –the human doctors, that is, because he himself could easily heal me for all eternity from all maladies, save for those caused by silver, sunlight, and a nice stake, of course. He reminds me of this fact just often enough to irritate me, but not so often that I anticipate it. For what it's worth, he becomes my main source of comfort, for even though Sam, Amelia, Jason, Alcide, Pam, Bill and even Quinn visit me – with varying degrees of regularity – it's his presence that brings me the most peace.

My friends and family – the latter being Jason, that is – do their best in transforming my hospital room into a home; my Gran's old afghan warms my feet, my pillowcase is my own, and my walls are slowly being covered by photos of me with various individuals at various locations and events. Pam even goes so far as to bring me newspaper clippings of comic strips or news that she finds quaint or entertaining in the way that only vampires can find humans, and these join the photos on my wall. Bouquets are delivered to my room everyday, smaller ones and massive ones, classic rose ones and exotic combinations of flamingo flowers (no doubt selected because of their distinctive phallic shapes) and Birds of Paradise, magenta calla lilies and foxgloves, all with plain cards bearing the letter E in an understated script. I had bawled when the first bouquet arrived, its card singularly bearing the signature "Yours, Eric" and I had kissed the man himself with as much passion as I could afford to show him in my sterile hospital room. The flowers take up room on the windowsill and bedside table, in various stages of deterioration to match my own, their scents saturating the air to remind me that there is more, outside the scrubbed floors and walls and generic décor of the hospital.

It seems like a such a waste, I think, that all this effort being put into my recovery is going to waste, for there doesn't seem to be much improvement. Wrinkling his nose, Bill had called the chemo poison and I couldn't bring myself to disagree, especially not when I spend entire days nauseous and incapable of keeping food down. Sometimes I awaken in the middle of the night to vomit, violently, before falling back into my dreamless sleep while whoever happens to be staying with me takes care of what needs to be taken care of. I hate it, hate feeling helpless and childlike, hate the departure of my independence and self-reliance, but I no longer have any say in the matter, it seems.

When Eric visits – nightly, unless he is incredibly swamped which happens every once in a while – he swiftly abandons his shoes and curls up behind me, fitting my body to his in the bed. We spend hours laying like that, more often than not in silence save for the nights Eric tells me stories about the bar and Pam in his rare bouts of chattiness. Holding me, he kisses my neck and shoulders and takes care of me when I tell him he doesn't have to. Sometimes, when he's in a bad mood or he can sense that I am, his lips shape that he loves me silently, in my hair and in my skin, unnecessary yet comforting as when he pretends to breath for my sake. Sometimes, when I'm in a good mood, I pretend that he is all I need and that he feels the same, that he says the words out loud instead of letting his lips form them soundlessly.

He never does, however, and as it turns out, the comfort I find in him is short-lived.

8888

"Let me turn you," he murmurs one night, one cool hand resting on my hip and gripping it a bit more tightly when I respond.

"Eric, no." I turn, far enough to see his face. "We've talked about this."

"You're not getting better," he argues, coldly laying out the facts as no other person would. "You're losing your hair-" And by that he means what little grew back after they shaved it "- and your blood smells more diseased every day, even though you lie and tell me you feel better." A part of me is angry at him for feeling the need to drive home this point; that I'm dying and I had better face it, accept it, _something_. Most of me, however, has a different approach.

"Eric, please don't," I beg quietly and my eyes fill with tears. "Please don't take this from me."

"Lover, you need to understand that I can't just stand aside and watch you die. Not when I can help you."

"Who asked you to?" I ask though my voice is rising in pitch as tears roll down my face. "You don't have to stay and watch."

He froze, blue eyes glacial and detached as he regarded me before speaking in a measured tone, "Are you telling me to leave?"

"I'm saying that if it's so hard for you to accept my decision, then I don't want you to suffer."

The nurses find me not long after, crying so hard that my heartbeat has grown erratic and hysterical enough that someone adds a syringe-full of something into my IV to calm me down, and I let everything fade out as I fall asleep.

It is rather clear to me why my already-unstable health takes a nosedive after that.

8888

Pam bursts into my room the next night, ignoring me for the few seconds it takes her to add a strip to my growing collection of newspaper clippings on the wall. We both pretend I'm okay, even though I open my mouth and close it without a word a dozen times over the course of her visit, and she brings me flowers that I pretend are not from Eric. Why he would still send me flowers is beyond me, but I ask her to stop it if she feels any affection towards me at all and she gives me a hard look but inclines her head. We develop a language, Pam and I, in which "How's the bar?" serves as "How is Eric?", "It has its days" serves as "He misses you" and "You look good, Sookie" means something completely different.

It's a good language, I think. Convenient, effective, and appropriately full of shit because I miss him, every time a new bag of chemo is hung up and every time I fall asleep acutely aware of the lack of the presence of a body pressed against mine. I miss his lips and his hands and his inane ability to make it easy for me to pretend that this arrangement I have made with the hospital is temporary.

The thing I regret the most, I realize, is that I put off telling him I love him thinking there would be more time and now he's gone and there is none.


	4. Chapter 3

_**No Choice**_** by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris; Please don't sue. Set after FDtW.

Rating: T, possibly M for later chapters

A/N: You guys are great; your reviews make my day.

I've started college (my first year) so I probably won't be around for a while. New classes and whatnot. So here is the last chapter for a while, and I'll do my best to not let this break be huge. Much love to all of you, and please continue the lovin' by clicking the blue button at the bottom!

* * *

The inside of Eric's home is much more understated than the outside.

Stepping through the door, I refuse to release his hand for the fear that he's going to disappear, and he seems more than willing to hold on to me as he gives me a quick tour of the main floor. The walls are painted a warm buttery yellow, the furniture all dark woods and chocolate-brown leathers. It looks like a page out of a catalogue, and it all looks so normal that I can't help smiling. It's very Eric though, I have to give him that, even if I'm guessing he barely spends any time here judging by the state of the furniture. The kitchen isn't tiny as I'm used to finding in vampire homes; the countertop is granite and the appliances are all stainless steel next to the richly-finished cabinets and what turns out to be a fully-stocked fridge and pantry. Eric himself appears surprised at the last but mutters something about Pam, shaking his head with a bemused expression. A while later, I watch in awe as Eric slides open a panel on the side of the staircase and leads me downstairs, punching in a code into a keypad to open another door into what turns out to be his day room. It's a large suite, with a wet bar and adjoining bathroom, office and walk-in closet, all decked out in rich reds and brilliant blues.

"I love your house," I decide and sink down on his bed, suddenly exhausted. Grinning, he bows and deposits my bag by the door before joining me, grasping my hand as he does. Watching him busy himself with our joined hands, I'm greeted with a cold shock of reality when I realize that this is it. There's nothing else left to do, no informing friends, no packing up and signing discharge papers, no long drive to Eric's home. This is it.

"So how do we do this?" I ask, keeping my tone light and he looks up to meet my eyes.

"I'll feed you my blood in doses over several hours, to heal your body as much as possible, and then I'll turn you."

"So I'll be a pretty vampire?" Bitterness seeps into my words, but I blame it on the weariness. Eric regards me for a moment before responding, carefully selecting his words.

"I guessed you wouldn't want to look sick for the rest of your existence." Deflating, I nod because he's right. "You're beautiful as you are, but _you_ need to think so too," he continues and his words tug on my heartstrings because I know 'beautiful' is the farthest thing from me right now. A frail, broken, wispy body is not beautiful by any definition of the word, but it's touching that he thinks – or pretends to think – otherwise.

"Was it you who paid for my hospital bills?" I ask abruptly and he seems to consider lying before nodding 'Yes'. A few weeks after Eric left, after I pushed him away, I discovered that not only were all the treatments covered by an anonymous donor, but that the hospital had been instructed to bill this anonymous party with all future treatments. Eric was the natural suspect, given his tendency to take care of me even when I refused to ask, but the state of our relationship had kept me from confirming my suspicions. I take in his admittance of it and wait for the inevitable indignation to swallow me whole, for my pride to rear up its ugly head and demand that I be allowed to prove myself, again and again, as a strong, independent woman. But nothing happens. What he did was generous; it reeked of his guilt over leaving but I can't deny that there was simply no way I would be able to afford everything - not even if I sold my entire life - so for the first time, in a manner that is decidedly unlike me, I accept his inherent inclination to take care of me when I need it most. "You didn't have to do that," I say quietly, my tone impressing that I'm grateful but humbled by his generous gift.

"I know." Even Eric's reaction is unlike him. Where a few months ago he would have felt the need to justify why he did it by reminding me of my financial status and inability to afford it all, he takes the modest approach. He didn't _have _to take care of me, his manner lets me know, he just did.

Leaning forward, I press a kiss into his cheek, "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Love." _Love_? I think to myself. He didn't just stutter, this wasn't just a mispronounced word that happens to the best of us every now and then. _I'm not Lover anymore, I'm Love_. Because he loves me. I can't help smiling, though it fades when Eric speaks again.

"We should start." We position ourselves on the bed, Eric leaning against the headboard and me leaning against his cool torso, framed by his legs. Sensing my anxiousness, his arms wrap around my middle – much slimmer than it used to be – and he nuzzles my shoulder, my neck, until I turn my head and our eyes meet, an unasked question answered before he lets his lips brush mine. His body is warm now, my warmth having seeped into his undead flesh, and his kisses have calmed me until I relax against him and he bites into his wrist with the unmistakable sound of tearing skin. I don't argue this time, unlike all the other times, and view the dark liquid as the elixir that will soon be granting me a second chance. Latching on, I hold his wrist to my mouth and draw on his blood with deep, long pulls. A choked sound escapes my vampire and his forehead drops to rest on my shoulder, his body tensing behind mine as an unmistakable part of him begins expressing its interest. He calls my name, warning me to stop, slow down to lessen his body's inevitable reaction to what I'm doing, but I take no heed. With another grunt, Eric's other arm reaches out to grasp the comforter, bunching it up in his pale fist that I observe out of the corner of my eye.

"_Sookie_." His voice is strained and I smile, grinding my hips against him because an orgasm seems such a small favour in return for the gift he is giving me, and if I'm too weak to let him make love to me, then this is the next best thing. I know his climax is approaching rapidly, can tell by the way the blood-bond seems to be vibrating with the tension begging to be released, and I pull even more deeply, knowing how it affects him. Drawing forcefully one last time, I hear his head bang against the masterfully hand-carved headboard as his orgasm hits and warmth floods against my lower back with his soft cry.

"You should stop for now," he whispers and his arm drops onto the mattress when I release it to twist in his arms. Probing tentatively at the bond, I try to gauge if he's okay, if I drew too much blood, if I pushed him where he didn't want to be pushed. When he opens his eyes to regard me hazily, I relax and he smiles to peel himself away from the headboard and kiss me deeply.

"Are you okay?" I ask in a small voice.

"I'm perfect. You didn't have to do that," he adds, resting his head on my shoulder. I know that; if I'd drawn on his blood with less force, more steadily, it wouldn't have been enough to trigger an orgasm. It wasn't that I was drawing blood, it was the manner in which I was doing it, and I was doing it with every intent to bring him pleasure.

"I know," I respond, re-enacting our earlier conversation with our roles reversed, and he kisses the nape of my neck. Gently, Eric removes himself from around me and drops his pants, _right in front of me_. The fact that he turns away from me is a small consolation considering just how fond I am of his ass, and I have to avert my eyes as he disposes of his dirty boxer-briefs and jeans, replacing them with sweatpants. Only sweatpants. The chemo may have suppressed a lot of things, but my libido is not one of them and Eric going commando and moaning in my ear did nothing for my attempt at ignoring what my body wants, even if it's too weak to get it.

"Shy now, Lover?" _Ah, there it is_, I observe absently at the return of my old nickname, though I blush at his comment on me averting my gaze. My Eric shakes his head and proceeds to warm four bottles of True Blood at the kitchenette in the corner, setting them on the bedside table before rejoining me in the same position as before, though this time I turn and lean into him on my side. Soon, we're kissing, slowly though with no small amount of heat, and Eric's hand starts drifting lower to knead my breasts through my bra and continue on downwards to my waistband where I stop his progress by resting a hand on his.

"I don't-" Nope, try again. "I don't think I can handle sex. Right now." There. Much better.

"I understand," he smiles and I notice for the first time the way the corners of his eyes wrinkle when he does, like it would on a human man – why it has taken me this long to notice, I have no idea. "I just want to return the favour," he continues rather heatedly. "Is that okay?" Receiving non-verbal confirmation, he allows his hand to return to its earlier course, pausing when he reaches the bare skin under my sweatpants. Groaning at my lack of underwear – which I passed on whilst dressing due to how much effort it would have taken me, and for which I am now grateful – his talented fingers reach my bundle of nerves and tease it, eliciting moans from me. Soon – or rather, not soon enough – two fingers slide into me and I turn my face to mouth at Eric's throat, to place kisses on the soft skin. He plays me, one arm running up and down my back while the other works at bringing me to climax, and soon I'm shuddering in his lap, chanting his name as I spasm. Limp with a mix of satisfaction and fatigue, I lean heavily into his torso.

"I should go clean up," I observe and Eric makes a noncommittal sound before asking, with a smile, if I want him to carry me. "Will you? I don't think I can stand quite yet." Without any warning beyond his arms wrapping around me, Eric begins hovering, carrying me to the bathroom that way. "Show off," I mutter when he sets me down and he laughs as he washes his hands and steals a kiss before leaving me to take care of my human needs. I use the toilet and splash cold water on my face, noticing the spark in my eyes that somehow manages to shine through despite the bags beneath them. Absently, I run a hand through the weak strands that grew back after getting shaven off before my surgeries. It grew fast, always has, and I'm satisfied with this length that I'll be sporting for the rest of my existence, though I wouldn't mind a light trim later. Continuing the inventory, I let my hands travel over my breasts that shrunk as the pounds all but melted away, over my flat stomach and to my sides. I'm still curvy by the modern definition, though not as much as before.

He called me beautiful, I recall with a smile and find that as drastically different as my body may be, I'm okay with it now. I'm still alive, I made it without Eric at my side, and now that he has returned, he will be granting me immortality. A thought occurs in that moment and I feel a surge of panic that does not go unnoticed by Eric who knocks on the door, concern in his voice as he asks me if I'm alright. Opening the door, I meet his gaze but refuse to return his smile.

"You panicked," he states, referring to the surge he no doubt felt in the bond.

"I don't want you as my maker," I begin, still standing in the bathroom and his brows draw together. "That's not a relationship I want, I don't need you to be my guardian in loco parentis because I'm gonna be a newborn vampire. There are other roles I'd much rather have you fill in my life and if you think becoming my sire will ruin our relationship as it was, then I don't want you to be my sire."

"Sookie," he attempts to interrupt but I carry on.

"I hate being told what to do, you know that. You being my vampire daddy means you have _actual _ power over me and if you use that power, if you force me into doing things because you're highhanded and think you always know better, then there is no way we can be together. So I need you to make a decision, because the only reason I would want to be immortal is to stay with you, as we are now. I'd rather die than be under your thrall." It is only once I've run out of steam that I notice the absolute rage in his eyes. I take an involuntary step backwards, suddenly feeling as if the blood in my veins is on fire, burning like acid.

"If I wanted someone to be under my _thrall_, you think I would pick _you_? You think I would search a thousand years and pick the most pigheaded, the most fiery woman to turn into my own personal bitch? Is that what you think I've done with Pam? That's what you think I want from you, Sookie?" He advances on me slowly in the massive bathroom until the back of my legs hit the Jacuzzi tub. "If I wanted a servant, I would have picked a fangbanger. If I wanted _you_ to be my slave, I would have turned you against your will a long time ago. Frankly, I'm fucking offended you would question me after everything." Shaking his head, he runs a hand through his hair and turns away only to return. "I do know better. I've been a vampire for a thousand years, I've been alive for longer than you can possibly imagine, in a time that you humans fantasize about when it was nothing close to a fantasy. You can't possibly deny that I _do_ know better."

"But you have no right to limit my life, my decisions and choices just because you've seen how things have panned out in the past. You can advice me, but you can't choose for me."

"When did I ever try? When you got sick, I let you do as you wanted to because you _wanted to_."

"With the bond-"

"You had the choice to bond yourself to Andre, didn't you? I presented myself as an option and _you_ picked me." I drop my eyes to his feet, exhaling forcefully. "And you want to talk about highhanded? How about failing to tell me that I loved you when I lost my memory?"

"You didn't remember it, there was no point-"

"It was _my life_, Sookie. You assumed that I stopped loving you and I never did."

"What?"

"When it comes to us, you're just as high-handed as I am, darling," he tells me with a smile and I sigh, dropping to sit on the edge of the tub. "You need to let me take care of you for the first little while. You need to let me be overprotective and highhanded because there's too much at stake, there's too many people who want you and what you can do and there is no way you can tell me you have more experience with vampire politics than I do."

"I don't need a father figure, I need what you are to me right now," I insist.

"And what am I to you, Sookie?" Dropping to his knees, Eric rests his large hands on my thighs and smiles at me, his age showing in that moment.

"A lot more than I would like to admit."

"Someone you love?"

"I've already admitted that," I smile back and he leans forward to kiss me. "You may take care of me."

"Thank you." He inclines his head graciously and then meets my eyes sombrely. "How is your blood feeling?"

"What?"

"No longer burning, right?"

"How did you know…?"

"That was my blood in you, reacting to how I felt."

"Your anger."

"Yes. And yours, in me." He pauses, "Don't worry, we can learn to block it, even once you're turned."

"Did you just-"

"Feel your panic in me? Yes. I have a feeling I'll be a feeling a lot of it in regards to our relationship."

"What can I say, I'm skittish," I tease and he laughs, deep and warm.

"Come, Lover, you need more blood." Taking my hand in his, he leads me back to the bed where he feeds me more blood which I drink carefully to avoid his arousal. Afterwards, he downs four bottles of True Blood and curls his body around mine where we lay.

"You're looking better," he comments. "Your cheeks are flushed; your skin looks less…"

"Deathly?"

Laughing, Eric says, "Yes."

"Eric?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me about your family."

"My… family?"

"Your human family. You must have had one, right? Had kids, a wife?" He regards me for so long that I give up on receiving a response and look away, tucking my face under his chin.

"Svana. We married when I was sixteen."

"Sixteen?" I gasp, earning myself a chuckle.

"I was considered a man at that age, Sookie. She was younger."

"Did you love her?" He chuckles, almost bitterly.

"I was sixteen. I didn't _need_ to love her."

"Ouch."

"It wasn't my choice to marry her, Sookie. She was a good person though. A good wife."

"Were you good to her?" I ask, tracing the outline of his muscles under his shirt.

Pulling back to meet my eyes, he nods, "Considering the time, and how men and women treated each other, yes, I was very good to her. I loved her for being a good mother to our children, but I was never in love with her." Not like he's in love with me, I smile privately.

"Did you have a lot of kids? A bunch of mini-Erics running around?" I let my smile widen to a grin and press a thumb into his lower lip, fascinated by their perfection.

"Eight," he nods. "Well, eight pregnancies. Three died at birth and my youngest son died of a sickness at three."

"Oh, Eric," I cup his face in my hand, brushing his cheekbone with a thumb. His large hand covering mine, he speaks.

"It's fine, Sookie. It was so long ago, I barely think about them anymore."

"Oh," I mumble, feeling like I've been punched in the gut as I drop my gaze and take back my hand.

"Sookie?" He asks, reaching for it back but I roll away. "What is it?"

"Nothing." I carefully give blocking him a try and hear him exhale in frustration.

"Sookie, that's never going to happen with you," he promises me.

"What?" My voice sounds strangled even to my own ears and he moves closer to me, taking my hand and resting it on my stomach, clasped in his.

"I'm not going to forget about you," he murmurs, letting his breath tickle my ear. "Not even in a thousand years."

I turn my head and meet his gaze, "How can you be sure?"

"Well, for one thing, you're going to be immortal." He smiles broadly, "And for another, I can't imagine forgetting having sex with you."

I give him a sour look, "Good. I'm glad you won't forget about me because I'm good in the sack and because I'm going to be around forever." Eric's face sobers and he looks a tad annoyed as he calls my name. I return to ignoring him and he turns my face back towards his with a finger on my chin.

"It's not about the sex, darling." My eyes flick to his as he continues, "It's not even because you're a telepath. You _know_ what it's about."

"Do I? You won't forget about me because you love me? You loved your children."

"I barely knew my children," he interjects but I ignore him.

"Is that what's going to happen to me? In a few hundred years, will I have forgotten about my Gran? About Sam and Jason and Amelia? All these people that mean so much to me, that made me who I am today, are they just going to be a distant memory I'll dismiss once I'm turned?"

My vampire regards me for several long seconds before finally speaking, "You may not remember them all the time, they might not haunt your every thought, but like you said, they're a part of you. Everything you do, everything you are for the rest of your existence, it's dedicated to their memory, to who they were to you."

"Is that what you did? When you kill, when you hunt, is that dedicated to the memory of Svana and your kids? To the memory of your parents?"

"When I take care of the woman I love," he begins louder than me, no doubt to make a statement in his obvious irritation, but lowers his voice as he continues, "when I try to be a better person for you, _that_ is a dedication to their memory. I didn't say that I always honour their memory, but I am trying to once again, for the first time in a long time." There's no sound from either one of us for a long moment as we stare at each other. Eventually my anger, my frustration and underlying fear drain away and I push Eric to lie on his back, allowing me to rest my head on his chest.

"Tell me about your children." The sudden change in topics surprises him but he gathers his thoughts quickly.

"My eldest child was named Einarr," he begins. "He was... nearly ten when I died."

I let my hand stroke back and forth on his stomach as I ask, "What was he like?"

"Like a mini-Eric." I lift my head and catch him grinning. "He was taller than I had been at his age, but everyone always said he looked just like me."

I find myself smiling at the image. "You must have been very proud of him."

"I was."

"What about the others?"

Eric frowns, trying to remember. "We had three daughters. It was a madhouse," he adds with a fond smile.

"It sounds wonderful." I whisper quietly, keenly aware that what he is describing is something I will never have.

"It's all relative."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm happier now," he tells me quietly, his tone intense with the depth of his emotion. "Even though you're sick, even though I felt like I was going to lose you forever, Sookie."

"But you loved them." I sit up, shocked that he is putting me above his entire family. "You must have missed them, you must have regretted losing them."

"I did, for a while. But then I accepted the reality of my existence," my Eric tells me quite simply while I gape at him. "They were well taken care of, Sookie. I had left enough for all of them to never need anything, and my wife was also supported by my brother," he adds in response to my expression.

I figure I'm going to leave that last one alone but still comment, "They must have missed you."

Eric moves the hand I have resting on his torso to press a kiss into its back and meets my gaze with traces of defensiveness in his eyes. "They did fine without me."

"Did you see them afterwards? Did your Maker let you?" I press and watch his eyes harden as he shuts down, likely irritated by my insistence. "Will you ever tell me how you were turned?" I ask quietly, realizing that should he flat out refuse, it'll represent the first wedge being driven between us.

"Some day. Alright, Sookie? We're running out of time and I need to give you more blood. You're continuing to improve right in front of my eyes," he adds the last with a spark in his eyes, laying the charm on thick.

The pattern continues for several hours, talking interrupted by blood-drinking sessions and occasional kisses, sometimes more but never as far as the first session. He's very loving, stroking my hair as I drink and holding me as we talk, lips pressed against my skin more often than not. As it grows later, I find myself drifting off in his arms, feeling the brush of his lips against my temple as he assures me that he'll awaken me when it's time for more of his blood, promising that we're almost there, almost done. Drowsily, I thank him for everything, telling him that I love him as I close my eyes and feel sleep claim me, if only for a short while.


	5. Chapter 4

_**No Choice**_** by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris; Please don't sue. Set after FDtW.

Rating: M

A/N: Alright, so this chapter has been forever in the making. I've just been so busy with classes and this week, I had four midterms in three days, it was awesome. I hate to do this, but this story is coming to an end. I have one more chapter to go and then it's done. I'm really sorry, about taking forever with this story, revamping the whole thing and then taking forever to post that too. I promise the next chapter will be up soon though, and I hope you guys aren't too disappointed with me. Please, do let me know your thoughts.

P.S. I threw in some citrus-y goodness; do you forgive me yet? =]

* * *

When I finally manage to open my eyes, it feels like I've been struggling to awaken for days, like my mind had been taken prisoner by my body, refusing to free it until finally, _poof_, I'm awake. Pulling in a deep breath, I frown and exhale to repeat the action only to find it different from what I had grown used to in my nearly-three decades of life. Experimentally, I exhale and leave my lungs empty, awaiting the inevitable pull in my chest that doesn't come. The truth – that I no longer need to breathe to survive, that air is not a necessity because I'm _dead_ – hits me and tears fill my eyes.

"Eric," I whimper as my gasp heightens my panic. "_Eric_, _please, where are you?_" There's a blurred shape at the door and Eric appears to pull me into his body, tightening his arms around me as I cling to his shirt and sob.

"I'm sorry, I was right upstairs, okay? I didn't think you'd be up this early. I'm sorry. You're okay. It's okay," he murmurs into my hair and I nod, fingers digging into his biceps. Feeling my sobs lessen, Eric pulls me back to gaze into my eyes searchingly. "How are you feeling?"

"It's different, everything's different," the words tumble out and I gaze around the room in which I was last human. "It's lighter and I can smell everything and it's so different. Eric, why is it so _different_?" My voice breaks on the last word and more tears begin to fall. Unconsciously, I suck in another breath and feel the rising panic once more. "I hate it, I hate this, I changed my mind." Frowning in his concern, Eric reaches out to cup my face and suddenly I'm no longer on the bed, I'm across the room and I waver with the momentum of an action I wasn't aware of having taken. My fingers curl into fists and I take a step back when he rises to approach me, as slow as a human – a speed I will now have to take care to achieve, I observe and feel my insides clench in grief.

"Sookie," he calls quietly, tugging on the bond and I recoil as if he struck me, feeling the bond in every single fiber of my being.

"Don't do that," I order, shaking. "You promised you won't do that."

"I didn't." He cocks his head to the side, masking his concern. "That was our bond, lover. _Our_ bond, not the sire-child bond." Taking a slow step forward that I mirror, he adds, "That is how it feels for me; all your emotions feel that way to me."

"I want to go back," I whimper pathetically, not caring about any fucking bond. "Please let me go back? I don't like this."

"Sookie," he begins.

"Don't Sookie me!" I snap instantly and he drops the hand he had been reaching out to me.

"Darling, calm down."

"Don't _fuck_ with my head," is my abrasive comeback and Eric frowns, taking a moment before speaking again.

"I'm not. See?" He raises his hands above his head in a sign of surrender. "Feel for yourself, am I influencing you?" I gulp and release a brief whimper before reaching out to feel the bond, finding a whole other branch to it that connects me to Eric in a way I can't control, unlike our old bond which is still there. The second bond, the new one, is dormant, hiding away until, I suspect, the moment when Eric calls on it as my maker. Meanwhile, our own bond is deserted, empty of any sparks of emotions: he has shut it down.

"Am I, Sookie?" He urges and I shake my head. "Are you thirsty?" he asks as he grabs the clinical-looking bags of blood he tossed on the bed in favour of holding me earlier. Ripping open the corner of one with his teeth, he holds it out to me despite his own fangs having lengthened at the scent of the fresh blood. My own senses take a mere moment longer to pick up on it from across the room and there's a dull ache in my gums before I feel two sharp points of pain on the inside of my bottom lip.

"Ow," I gasp and my mouth opens instinctively, my fangs having pierced my flesh with their sudden extraction. Awaiting for me to approach him, Eric smiles a little and I do as he wants to drain the bag dry before I've had the chance to absorb the flavour and its effect on my body. "Oh my god," I mumble at the slight tingle that marks my lip healing. Oh, and the way my entire body tingles in pleasure – one part in particular – as the blood begins to course through my veins. Smirking knowingly, Eric holds out another bag and then another as I dry them in quick succession, pausing to take a deep breath – figuratively – after my fifth one.

"Better?" He asks and I realize that yes, I am feeling much better. Other needs are beginning to make themselves known and my eyes flick up to Eric's blue ones in the nanosecond before I tackle him back onto the bed. Mouth seeking his, I let my hands travel under his shirt to dig into his sides and he growls when my fangs pierce his lips this time.

"Sookie," he murmurs as I feel him begin to push me away and something inside of me tightens.

"Fuck me. Please just fuck me," I beg him quietly and on some level, we both realize how much I need this. Not because I'm horny and the blood quenched one thirst while fueling another, but because I'm terrified and he's the only anchor in this new life I've chosen for myself, and because I've missed this intimacy with him for months and the hours I spent with him three days ago did nothing to make me decide otherwise.

I must have forgotten how expressive Eric's eyes can be because they flare with lust and something much more primal, and I stop thinking for the next while as we claw each other's clothes off, desperate for the connection that waned in our months of separation. His thrusts are rough and merciless and I cry out, biting into his shoulders and eliciting a yell that only spurns me on. It isn't long before we finish with loud, identical cries and slump into each other, shuddering as we cling to the other's body and I begin weeping again.

"Fuck," I hiss and tighten my legs around his waist when he moves to roll off of me.

"It's okay," he comforts me, stroking my hair which would have been clinging to my neck and forehead had I been alive, but instead is dryer than if I had been sitting still as a human. "I have you, everything's fine."

"I'm dead," I sob and he kisses every bit of skin he can reach, tightening his hold around me.

"But you're still here. You're still here," he repeats the last bit as if reassuring himself and I can't bring myself to hate this as much as I should because he looks so relieved, because now that I'm a vampire I can feel just how deeply he loves me, how much he needs me even though he would never admit it.

"I want you again," I admit quietly and he offers me a small smile.

"Later, okay? How are you feeling? Not panicking anymore, are you?" I shake my head at the last and let my hands drift low on his body to catch the part of him I desire most. He says my name in slight disapproval.

"Please? I need you, Eric."

"You just had me, darling."

"I still need you," I insist, biting my lip to keep the tears at bay. "Please? Please, Eric?" With the smallest sigh, he leans to kiss me, perhaps to silence me but I murmur "Please" over and over until his resolve weakens. I feel him harden against my core as we continue kissing, my body warming as I discovered it does when I'm aroused. His lips trails down my jaw and to my neck where he sucks on the flesh, nibbling and biting to draw miniscule amounts of blood that make my entire body tingle. When his mouth latches onto my nipple, I gasp and arch my chest up into him, feeling myself grow even wetter as his one hand drops down to my centre.

"Want you," I murmur, tangling my fingers in his absurdly soft hair.

"Want you back," he moves to breathe into my ear and reach down to place himself at my opening. "Wanted you for so long." My hips buck and the head of him enters me, eliciting a moan from both of us. Eric gathers my hands above my head, pressing them into the pillow as he enters me fully, filling me with languid thrusts. I climax twice before he lets go, burying himself up to his hilt to come deep inside me. When he stills, I bite into his jugular without any warning and he jerks, crying out in surprise before hardening, still inside of me.

"Fuck," he hisses and I lock my ankles around his back to hold him against me. "You feel so good," he moans and begins moving inside me again. Using one hand to hold himself up, Eric uses the other to alternate between pinching my nipple and rubbing my nub. Feeling brazen and close, I moisten one finger where we are connected and let it travel down Eric's back to slide inside his opening. He cries out in shock and comes violently, jerking inside me and triggering my own climax.

"Please say it," I ask in the aftermath, sheets tangled around our bodies just as we are with each other.

"I'm in love with you," he whispers. "You're amazing. You're something else."

"Was that okay?" I ask sheepishly, glancing up at him through my lashes. "I should have asked, but…" He stops me with a kiss.

"It was more than okay."

"I'm so sorry I'm being so needy right now," I whisper back, suddenly realizing the extent of it.

"You can be needy towards me all you want," he promises. "For as long as you want."

"Don't make me make you regret those words, Mr Northman," I joke weakly and he grins.

"Everything feels different," I whisper into the silence that follows and he nods in agreement. I wriggle around on the bed, feeling the silk sheets scratch my skin in a way they hadn't just three days before.

"All your senses are heightened right now. It'll get better as you get used to them, but they'll still always be hyperaware."

"I can't believe this," I mutter, adjusting my body on the mattress. "How did you deal with sleeping on my linen sheets? It must have killed."

"I had other things to distract me," he whispers and I receive yet another reminder of just how dead I am when I don't blush. As if sensing this, Eric's fingers brush over my cheek and he murmurs that I am beautiful and I struggle with the tears, pleased when I manage to suppress them.

"Am I supposed to be this emotional?" I ask at last and he seems to contemplate it.

"I don't remember. Pam was more than pleased with the liberties she would be given as a vampire, though your circumstances were decidedly different." He pauses, "Speaking of your circumstances, your brother and friends have been hounding me with phone calls, waiting for you to wake up." I smile though it's short-lived as I really consider his words.

"How did they get your number?"

"That is what I would very much like to know." Eric shoots me a pointed look and I bite my lip.

"Oh."

"Yes, lover?"

"I um, I wrote your number down in my address book at home."

"Ah."

"I'm sorry."

"That's my private cellphone number."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"It's no matter," he waves his hand dismissively. Nodding, I let my mind wander as I consider my friends' reactions when they meet me for the first time, again. I don't know how I feel about that; I don't know how I feel about me. I figure I have time to figure that out, however, so I curl into Eric and close my eyes, warding off the overwhelming thoughts of my immortality.


	6. Epilogue

**No Choice by PersianFreak**

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris; Please don't sue. Set after FDtW.

**Rating: **T

**A/N:**Well, here it is. Thanks to each and every one of you who have stuck by this story, and those of you who continue to leave me awesome reviews that are fantastic reminders of why I write SVM fanfics even when I'm knee-deep in writer's block. I hope you enjoy this last chapter of No Choice, and please don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts.

ETA: I'd made a couple of boo-boos, and now they're fixed. Thanks to those of you who picked up on 'em!

* * *

_**22 months later**_

She sits at the bar, one leg crossed over the other on the high chair as she taps her fingers on the edges of the wineglass. Nostrils flaring, she takes a sip of the blood and puts it back down, looking up to let one side of her mouth quirk up at the golden letters of the name of the establishment embedded into the wall above the bar. She returns to her drink, taking conservative sips for several more minutes until the low thrum in her veins intensifies to a warm buzzing. Still, she refuses to look up until the figure approaching her leans on the bar next to her. The man doesn't have to speak to be given his preferred blood type and a respectful nod by the bartender.

She gets up a moment later, leaving her drink as she heads out into the parking lot to lean back against her sleek Audi and look up at the stars.

"Blue looks good on you," Eric comments, having followed her out. He's probably right, it's a nice colour – cerulean, she thinks – but she stopped wearing colours a while ago. She doesn't know why seeing him called for it.

"You look good too. But then again, you always did," she adds that last part with a slight smirk. He takes the compliment in stride, which is unlike him, and lets his eyes travel around the lot. He wonders idly why she's back after all these months, wonders if she's here to stay or just open old wounds. They'd only made it for a year or so after he turned her before she decided it was too much. That _he_ was too much, too much to handle, too much to deal with. Too overbearing to love _and_ learn from, too powerful and well-known to live peacefully with. If he were human, he'd say he doesn't even remember what it was that pushed her over the edge but he isn't, so he can recall with perfect clarity that it was his acceptance of the title of King of Louisiana. The look of disbelief on her face when he told her, when it sunk in that Eric had made the decision without consulting her, it has been burned into his memory.

If he's being honest with himself, which he always is, he missed her, every sunset and every sunrise since the night he came back to find that the bond had been right, that she had actually up and left him.

"You're back," he observes at last.

"Indeed."

"What brought you back?"

Sookie doesn't speak, waits instead for his eyes to return to hers and when they do, she finally responds, "What do you think?"

"I'd say me, but I was also the reason you left so I can't confidently say."

"You were always good at being the cause of conflicting things," she argues softly.

"Was I?" he cocks his head to the side, curious.

"You used to be able to make me feel safe and terrify me in the next minute," she smiles. "And I spent a long time trying to decide whether I hated you or loved you." She doesn't know if she's talking about before she was turned or after; he doesn't either.

"And what now?"

"I don't like missing you," Sookie admits a tad bitterly.

"Then don't."

"Don't miss you or don't leave?"

"One or the other. Make a decision," he smiles to soften the words.

"I'm not like you, I don't just make decisions without considering the consequences," she retorts and his smile disappears.

"I don't know what you wanted me to do, _decline_ the offer to be King?"

"It wasn't that you accepted it, it was how you dealt with the situation; by not telling me." She's looking away now, staring at a distant point among the rows of cars to avoid his gaze. Eric had told her about it in the early morning hours, as he undressed to join her under the covers. When she didn't speak, he had fallen asleep and left early the next night to "see to some matters", as his note on her bedside table had informed her. Calmly taking in the note, she had risen to retrieve a duffel bag, methodically stuff it with essentials, and walk out on him.

"It wouldn't have made a difference, whether I told you before or after," he seethes.

"Maybe not, but I deserved to know. And it wasn't even the first time, you did it all the time; made choices without consulting me because _you_ decided I was too weak or because _you_ deemed it unimportant. Because you decided that if I couldn't change it, or if it was something that neither of us could change, then there was no hurry to tell me about it. Because I was too young, because I had too much on my plate, because you knew better or wanted to protect me, and you had no right."

"I wouldn't have done it if I thought it bothered you," he responds quietly.

"You _did_ know it bothered me, so instead of changing your ways, you kept doing what you did to keep me from being _more_ unhappy." Sookie pauses and drops her head, plays with an old ring of her Gran's that she had taken to wearing after Eric brought her over, to serve as a reminder of what it means to be human. "And I told you, before I was turned. I _told_ you I didn't need you to be anything other than what you were to me before." A single sob escaping her, she looks up at him tearfully, "I didn't need you to be a teacher or a father figure, I just needed you."

Eric fights the urge to step forward and wrap his arms around her, to whisper that he too needed her, needs her.

He did know it bothered her – how could he not, they share a blood bond – but he panicked, tried to hide more from her because he thought it would help; figured that not discussing something that bothered her would make it not last in her mind, make it last just long enough for him to tell her about it and for her to move on. He didn't realize that for every bit of information he withheld, she grew to resent him more. For every decision he made without her, she grew more unhappy.

He wants to know why she's back, is desperate to hear that she's back for him, to stay with him. Sure, he could have chased her, but he knew there was no point. Sookie always had to be the one to go back to him because he'd already chosen her, that New Year's Eve not so long ago; chosen her while she pushed him away time after time, chosen others in his place, chosen no one just to spite him, it seemed. Chose him, at last, just so when she got sick, she could send him away again. She had broken him and he had waited for her to put him back together. Waited for her to accept he loved her, waited for her to accept being a vampire.

Waited, waited, waited for her to come back.

It seems all he has done in the past thousand years is waited, for things to get better, for his Maker to die, for someone he could turn to come along, for someone he could love.

"Why are you back, lover?" Eric asks and Sookie who had wrapped her arms around herself looks up, her crimson tears marring her beautiful face.

Why is she back? Because she loves him, because she woke up far too many nights alone in a bed that didn't feel like home because, as it turns out, Eric was the part that felt like home, not the familiarity of the sheets or the room. Eric, who had made her unhappy, but had a tendency to rub his forehead on her shoulder before he fell asleep. Eric, who would raise her hand to his lips and kiss her ring finger, slyly grinning up at her. Eric, who loved her, whom she loved back.

Loves back.

She doesn't have enough words, for how much she loves him, how much she missed him, how much she wants to work on this, how sorry she is for not staying and working things out. Instead, she directs all these feelings into the bond, pushing them through when she finds the resistance that has no doubt developed in the months of disuse.

Eric winces at the flood of emotions but then softens visibly as he takes stock of each individual one. This is too awkward, too different from what they used to be, he decides and steps forward to gather her in his arms and spin her around. She laughs out loud, first in shock and then with glee, and when he sets her down she beams up at him.

"Kiss me, you fool," she teases and Eric smiles, recalling being on the set of _A Fool There Was_, nearly a hundred years ago when that line – or a line very similar to it – was uttered. Instead of waiting for him to oblige, she grabs his ears and tugs him down to her level.

Several hours later, Eric rolls onto his side to tuck her hair behind her ear. She leans into his touch to kiss his palm.

"I didn't accept it," he says softly.

Frowning in puzzlement, she asks, "What?"

"I'm not King." He moves to his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows and she moves closer to drape an arm across his lower back. "I told the Council that I couldn't do it."

"Why not?" Sookie asks as neutrally as she can manage.

"I couldn't do it without you," Eric tells his hands and feels her shock through the bond and in the prolonged silence. Her soft, cool lips press against his shoulder and her hand strokes up and down his spine before she rests her forehead on his shoulder.

They say nothing, remaining motionless until the sun rises and they rearrange themselves to fall asleep in the other's arms for the course of their daytime slumber.


End file.
